


Seek Discipline and Find Your Liberty

by Steals_Thyme (Liodain)



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Coming In Pants, Community: seasonofkink, Dubious Consent, Face Slapping, M/M, Pre-Roche, Punishment, Repression, Rorschach-typical Bigotry, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 05:15:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4335251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liodain/pseuds/Steals_Thyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan could just slap him, sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seek Discipline and Find Your Liberty

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Season of Kink](http://seasonofkink.dreamwidth.org/) 2015, Punishment square.

Dan's partner is an asshole.

This isn't a secret to anyone who's met him, to the denizens of New York (underworld, or otherwise) or in fact, to the rest of the world. It's certainly not news to Dan. He's pretty sure it's not deliberate, though, and he can't decide if that's better or worse—that Rorschach feels his opinions are factual and logical and correct, immune from criticism or examination like he's the moral center of the universe. Immutable.

Dan supposes that why he let it slide for so long; his diatribes are constructed in the framework of such an insular, righteous worldview that it's hard to know where to even start. He'd let the first anti-Semitic comment go, chalked it up to ignorance rather than malice. He'd reconsidered that stance and stopped offering any kind of response by the fourth or so off-color remark. 

By the time Dan had lost count, Rorschach still hadn't cottoned on to Dan's icy silences, so he pointed out that he was, in fact, Jewish, and perhaps Rorschach would like to keep his Zionist conspiracy theories to himself, thanks.

"I didn't mean you," Rorschach had said, and Dan had asked him why he had to be such a dick. He didn't seem to have an answer to that, but at least he shut the fuck up about Rothschild controlling the banks.

That's not to say he stopped being an asshole.

They're wrapping up a case that's led them to the Meatpacking District, and Rorschach's new grievance seems to be the 'homosexual colonization' of New York. Dan can't over-emphasize the scare quotes in his head, nor plaster on enough dripping sarcasm to cover up the disappointment that his partner's bigotry is apparently multi-faceted. So, Dan bites his tongue and tries not to acknowledge anything Rorschach is saying. He fervently hopes that Rorschach remembers the last time Dan went dead-air on him it was because he was a member of the group Rorschach was disparaging, so maybe he'll eventually can it and they won't have to have this conversation.

Yeah, fat chance.

"Streets reek of more than just offal," Rorschach grumbles, shoulders hunched over, hands thrust deep into his trench coat pockets. The rain-wet asphalt shimmers with neon reflections as they make their way back to where they left Archie, and Rorschach's mask jolts into new configurations with each strobing nightclub sign they pass: the _Manhole_ ; the _Spike_ ; Moloch's _Inferno_. "Slaves to unnatural desires, indulging every depraved whim. Deserve what they get."

Dan lets out sharp sigh and tries not to sound too aggrieved. "Remind me why I spend so much time with you, again?"

"Pathological stubbornness," Rorschach says. "Your silence on the matter is damning, Nite Owl. Liberal rationale leading you to harbor sympathy for deviants, perhaps."

Maybe it's just residual adrenaline from their last skirmish or maybe Dan's just sick of the constant, grinding ugliness of his partner's views, but his last nerve finally snaps and floods him with a trembling anger. Before he can catch himself, he rounds on Rorschach and backhands him, right across whatever closed-minded face he keeps under that mask. 

It's not even hard enough to dislodge his hat, but the man suddenly folds up like Dan kicked him in the balls, breath soughing out of him. Dan's not sure which of them is more surprised.

"Wow, are you okay?" Now that the heat of the moment's dissipated, Dan feels as shocked as Rorschach looks. Way to use your words, Dreiberg. Just yell at him next time. "Sorry, man."

"Stay away," Rorschach barks, holds up a hand to ward Dan off. This response is strange; the way he sounds even stranger. "Stay away from me." He straightens up awkwardly, turning away from Dan at the same time, and lopes off down an intersecting alleyway.

"Hey, wait—"

Dan takes off after him, expecting a merry chase across Manhattan, but he's right there when he turns the corner, slouched against the wall, mask half-up, unbuttoning his coat. The pained noise he makes does something awful to Dan's pulse rate.

"Are you injured?" Dan asks, pushing the trench aside to check. It would be so typical of him, to keep something calamitous to himself until a mere swatting from Dan would tip him—tip him over. The edge. Oh. No wonder he didn't get far. Dan flushes with embarrassment. Rorschach just groans and rolls his head back against the brickwork, the ink of his mask pooling thick over his cheekbones.

It's not an unfamiliar situation to be in; the aftermath of a fight can do strange things to a body. Dan usually manages to ignore it, but, yeah. Sometimes it can be difficult. "Hey, man, it's okay. It happens," he says, with what he hopes is reassuring camaraderie. 

"No," Rorschach grits out between clenched teeth, "it doesn't." He rubs the heel of his hand over himself, as though he can press it away.

Dan tries not to watch. "C'mon. It's just adrenaline, right?"

Usually just adrenaline, and sometimes when he catches sight of Rorschach mid-fight, the clean line of his left hook, a glimpse of a shirtcuff spattered with blood. These things happen.

"Wrong. Been punched in the face before." Rorschach swallows, throat working under his scarf. He doesn't sound angry, exactly, but he's certainly not happy. He fixes Dan with a glare; his mask is a dark flight of birds against a snowplain. "This doesn't happen. What did you do."

"What did _I_ do?" Dan kind of wants to laugh, because of course the guy who's second-favorite pastime is railing against deviant behavior would dissemble like crazy when he pitches a tent over nothing more than a slap. "This is all you, buddy."

Rorschach shakes his head. "Unacceptable," he says, pulling himself away from the wall and fumbling with his trench coat buttons. He is unsteady on his feet, leaning towards Dan then shifting away.

"Just a kink in your wiring," Dan says, maybe a little pointedly. "You can't help it. Let's call it a night and you can go home and, uh, work it off."

Apparently, that's also unacceptable. He's curling and uncurling his fists, mouth drawn thin and bloodless. His body is tremoring, strung tight like steel wire. "Degenerate behavior," he mutters. 

That's a red flag visible from space, and Dan should back off right the fuck now, because that's a lot more damage than he'd considered his partner was tending to. You sorry bastard, he thinks, not for the first time. What made you such a mess. Dan puts a hand on Rorschach's shoulder; he's solid with tension under his fingertips. 

Rorschach only snarls at him, mask gathering a storm. "Please." He spits the word out like it burns. "Nite Owl." He lifts his hand, open-palmed, to his face, then drops it again.

"What?" Dan frowns at him, caught off-guard for a second. Rorschach doesn't ask him for anything, just takes, or demands, or implies that Dan should do something. Manipulative to a fault just to keep up his impenetrable front. "Why?"

"Because," Rorschach says, taking a fistful of Dan's uniform and yanking him forward, off-balance. Dan rolls with it, uses his momentum to push Rorschach back against the alley brickwork, hand still flat against his shoulder. Rorschach's erection grazes his thigh.

Dan stares down at him. He's hesitant to do this without really understanding, but... Rorschach _never_ asks him for anything. He pats his cheekbone, watches the mask jump and jitter in response to the pressure. Rorschach growls low in his throat, shoves at him, spoiling for it. 

"Oh, plausible deniability, huh?" Dan wonders what favor he will earn in return for this. He's pretty sure he won't like it.

"Not interested in your justifications," Rorschach says.

"My—?" Dan laughs. "You're such a goddamn hypocrite." He brings his hand up, clips it lightly across Rorschach's face. He bucks against Dan, reins it in short with the bare bones of his control.

Dan feels sort of spiteful for indulging, but maybe that's something he'll beat himself up over later. So to speak. For now his temper is at a simmer, and it feels good. He discreetly thumbs at the controller on his belt and calls Archie to their location in case things get out of hand.

"Weak," Rorschach growls. Dan's not sure if he's talking about himself, but he feels his indignation spike either way. Sanctimonious ass. He backhands him a little harder, makes the ink spread. Rorschach grunts. 

"This is some Captain Carnage-flavor bullshit, you realize," Dan tells him.

Rorschach presses his chin to his chest and makes a rusty noise that's probably meant to be a laugh. "This is different," he says. "Not, hn... _unsolicited_." He enunciates cleanly, the words loaded with accusation.

So, he had noticed Dan's terseness after all, even if he's come to the conclusion that Dan wants to fight him, rather than for him to just shut up. Except that's not quite right, is it? Sure can't claim that now, anyway. Maybe this _is_ what he wanted. Dan feels kind of unsettled over how true that might be.

Rorschach takes Dan's wrist and strips off his gauntlet, lets it drop to the ground. The night air is cool on Dan's sweating palm. "Nite Owl," Rorschach says, prompting.

Dan takes a hold of his chin, stubble rasping against his fingertips as he tilts his head up. He rubs his thumb over Rorschach's lower lip. Rorschach bares his teeth at him. At his softness, his sentimentality, Dan thinks. He feels a stab of frustration, feeds on it, on the way Rorschach never relents and lets him in, despite putting their lives in each others hands night after night. 

He draws his hand back and slaps him, the sting of skin-on skin electrifying. The sound of it bounces off the alleyway walls.

Rorschach's head snaps to the side, the visible half of his cheek reddening. He's breathing hard, mouth turned down, and with a prickle of realization, Dan wonders if maybe this isn't Rorschach at all, if he's been so wide open that Dan didn't even notice.

He brushes his fingertips over Rorschach's mask, then over whoever owns the the warming skin beneath. Rorschach turns his head to look at him, and the contemptuous twist to his mouth fills Dan with pity, and with resentment. He strikes him again, Rorschach's unshaven skin grating against his sensitized palm, months of infuriation transferred in the whip-crack contact.

It splits Rorschach's lip. A bead of blood wells up, and Rorschach darts his tongue out, licks it away. 

"Oh, God," Dan says. It's unnerving how gratifying this feels, how much this is doing for him. It isn't something he wanted to know about himself. He can't believe how hard he is.

"Keep going," Rorschach demands. His voice is jagged and ashamed, and Dan can almost smell the arousal rolling off him. He smacks him on the other cheek, shattering the pattern on Rorschach's mask into a hundred droplets. Then he leans in, noses at his face, at the seam where the mask meets his skin. 

Archie's engines whine overhead, swirling the debris at their feet and drowning out whatever noise Rorschach makes.

Dan throws another backhand, and this time Rorschach loses his hat, bends with the force of it. He brings himself to rest with his forehead against Dan's throat. His breath is coming little too fast for Dan's liking, and he can feel how his heart is racing even through the layers of their uniforms. Dan's own pulse feels thunderous.

"Hey," he says, fitting his hand to Rorschach's jawline. He strokes beneath his ear. "You doing okay, there?" 

"Don't," Rorschach says. "Why must you always—ngh."

Dan cuffs him under the jaw, hears his teeth clack satisfyingly. Rorschach exhales through his nose, bullish fury subsumed by whatever need drives him. Dan assumes he wasn't expecting the interleaved affection. In truth, neither was Dan. He hits him four more times in succession—open palm, backhand, open palm, backhand—and Rorschach sways with it, shoulders hitching, mouth slack.

Dan reaches down to stroke him through his pants, keeps his touch light. Rorschach's mouth opens at the contact, breath rattling out of him and into Dan as he kisses him. He keeps it slow and shallow, trying to calm his rapid breathing. That just seems to put him on the edge of hyperventilating, so Dan gets a firm hold of him through the gabardine, presses the buttons of his fly against the tender flesh.

He feels Rorschach get a grip on his wrist, and Dan squeezes hard, enough to make himself flinch in sympathy, but Rorschach is losing it, pulsing against his hand, panting into his mouth with agonized little noises.

"Shh," Dan tells him, feeding him small, easy kisses as he fumbles at Archie's remote. "It's okay, shh." Rorschach keeps on groaning into Dan's mouth, says something about his fingers that probably wasn't meant to be obscene. 

The airship's doors open with a hiss of hydraulics. He pushes Rorschach into the co-pilot seat, sorts him out a cup of water while he tries to ground himself. He feels sort of light, all shaky and emptied out though he hasn't come. He doesn't even know if he wants to. 

Rorschach has to hold his cup in both hands to avoid spilling it everywhere. 

Dan's never seen him this kind of disheveled, and that vulnerability stokes a tenderness along with the desire to mess him up. He's always had conflicted feelings about this man: the protectiveness necessary for them to function as partners butting heads with intense frustration and a repressed animosity. Apparently somewhere along the line, it alchemized into attraction. Dan considers that Rorschach might not be the only one who's got a few issues.

Dan wonders how he'll feel the next time he sees a heavy land a punch on him.

"So, uh," Dan says, as an awkward silence settles over them. He's not sure how to start a conversation with someone who he's just pushed to the point of coming in their pants.

Rorschach, to his credit, seems to be pulling himself together. He readjusts his scarf with a hand that only shakes a little. He pauses, tilts his head, apparently waiting for Dan to think of something to say because of course it's up to him to do all the goddamned work.

"How long are you going to disappear for?" Dan says finally, defeatedly.

Rorschach pauses in the methodical buttoning of his trench coat. "Have a few leads that might take me out of town for a while," he says. His breathing is still heavy and uneven, as though he's trying to get it under control but is just making it worse.

"Sure you do," Dan says. "Sure. We do need to talk about this, you realize." 

Rorschach fixes him with a look as he pulls his mask down over his mouth. The cloth roughens the edges of his voice. "Hehn. What's to discuss? Always knew you were a pervert."

Yep, his partner is an asshole. Dan takes a deep breath, and reminds himself that this is not news.

*


End file.
